


Two Turtle Doves

by BarPurple



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5453207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <strong>Prompt:</strong>
</p><p>Day 2 -- Two Turtle Doves</p>
    </blockquote>





	Two Turtle Doves

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Wetislandinthenorthatlantic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic/pseuds/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic) in the [12_days_of_mollcroft_2015](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/12_days_of_mollcroft_2015) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Day 2 -- Two Turtle Doves

Mummy and Father had opted for sunnier climes this festive season, a three week cruise around the Caribbean was a delightfully received surprise from Sherlock. Mycroft knew his brother had been given the tickets by a grateful client, but since Sherlock had taken the rather dull case simply to get the holiday for his parents it actually showed some thought on his part.  
Mycroft had decided to make use of the empty family home by taking Molly out of London for Christmas. It was a fantastic idea that only got better when the snow fell deep and even across the countryside. The vagaries of the British weather meant the chocolate box Dickensian image was unlikely to last more than a few days, but for now everything was blissfully perfect.

On seeing the undisturbed white blanket Molly had tugged on her wellies and coat like an excited child. Laughing like loons the two of them had run around in the still lightly falling snow, dodging the snowballs thrown by the other. Molly had insisted they make snowmen and now the front drive was home to two carrot nosed, coal eye creations. Mycroft had considered the lopsided snow figures for a moment before running back into the house and returning with accessories for each. A bright tie and old umbrella for the one now dubbed SnowCroft and a rainbow scarf and pair of safety goggles for DoctorSnow.

Mycroft had committed the image of his girlfriend, red cheeked and laughing, her breath hanging in white clouds before her face to the special wing of his memory palace. Even with the mental image tucked safely away he snapped a few photos on his phone as well. He even took a selfie of the two of them wrapped in a hug in front of their snowmen.

The cold and faster falling snow had driven them back inside for a long warm shower. Only their rumbling stomachs had forced Mycroft from the bedroom into the kitchen.

He was busy making brunch in the cosy kitchen when Molly wandered in and hefted a wooden crate onto the kitchen table.

“What’s this, love? My slipper was right under the bed, and when I dug it out I found this. The label says it’s for you. ”

Mycroft smiled at Molly’s Christmas elf slippers as he licked pancake batter from his finger and peered into the crate. He quickly put the bowl and whisk down and lifted one of the stubbie bottles into the light.

“This, Molly my darling, is Father’s special Christmas homebrew. It was under the bed? He hasn’t done this for me for years.”

Molly slipped and arm around him as he mused over the memories called forth by a little green glass bottle with its neatly hand drawn label.

“It was a bit of a game that started when I was seven. He’d hide the crate and if I could find it he’d let me have a tiny glassful of brew,” Mycroft peered into the crate once more and pulled out the single brown bottle with a chuckle, “Those days my reward was always from a brown bottle, took me years to realize that he’d made a non-alcoholic version for me.”

He laughed out loud as the read the name his Father had given this year’s ale. Molly picked up the bowl and took over making the pancakes as Mycroft slid into one of the kitchen chairs, her lover was lost in memory at the moment and she was more than happy to listen as he recounted fond stories from his past.

“Father always gives his Christmas ales silly names. He’s used this one before. I wonder if it’s the same recipe? Two Turtle Doves is the reason Sherlock doesn’t indulge in alcohol all that often.”

Mycroft looked up as the batter hissed into the hot frying pan. Molly smiled at him.

“Oh dear, what did he do?”

“As I got older Father would hide a crate of the real stuff as part of my Christmas box. Sherlock had been getting the tea-total version for years at this point, but when he was fourteen he found my crate before I did. He hid in the loft and drank four bottles in less than an hour.”

Molly’s eyebrows jumped. Her grandmother had made homebrew and her stuff was instant bottled brain death.

“Wow, if Father’s homebrew is anything like Nanna’s that would have killed him!”

Mycroft huffed a laugh and smirked a little.

“I think he wished it had. We found him sing Carols and dancing around the loft with a dressmakers dummy. Mummy thought it was funny until his hangover kicked in. No mother wants a puking teenager for Christmas.”

Molly flipped the pancakes as she chuckled. She remembered her first excess of booze and felt teenaged Sherlock’s pain, but that didn’t stop it being funny.

“Did you get any pictures?”

“Alas, no. It’s a shame the blackmail value would have been priceless.”

Molly brought the plate of piping hot pancakes to the table and slipped into the chair next to Mycroft. He fished his penknife from his pocket and gave her an enquiring look.

“I know it’s early, but shall we?”

Molly grinned.

“We shall, since it’s Christmas.”

Mycroft deftly popped the caps from two bottles and handed one to Molly. They clinked to bottles together in a toast.

“Merry Christmas, Molly.”

She gave him a soft kiss and replied.

“Merry Christmas Mycroft.”


End file.
